Bound and Deceased

by Rothery, Tess

  “If it was a slow poisoning kind of thing, her getting really sick here that morning would have been some coincidence.”

  “That’s exactly what Aunt Ellie said, and that’s why she wouldn’t talk to them anymore without a lawyer. But after she left, Grandpa got real mad and said it made her look guilty and she shouldn’t get messed up with lawyers.”

  “I disagree with your grandpa on this one. I think Ellie definitely needs a lawyer.” Despite the cover above them, the wind was driving the rain sideways and had started to soak through Taylor’s jean jacket. “I’ve got my eye on some issues with her work as a quilter. If you’ve talked to Ellie about what I’m doing at all, you can let her know we’re working hard to get her out of this mess.”

  Aviva wrapped her arms around her and shivered. “Thanks, but I think I’ll keep this a secret. If there’s a killer out there, we don’t need them knowing you’re on their tail.”

  “Thanks for thinking of me.”

  Aviva headed in, but Taylor stayed on the stoop for a moment.

  Why would the cops be so focused on the restaurant, and why would the family keep that a secret? The corners on this one didn’t match, that was for sure.

  The rain pounded the ground, in huge, fat bullets of water. Taylor considered camping under the awning rather than hustling down the wet sidewalk back to her shop. While considering her options, a car honk startled her.

  In the blurry distance Taylor spotted a familiar two door. She wasn’t the type to be scared away by a little rain, but she wasn’t usually the type to turn down a free ride either. The car pulled up and a door popped open.

  She braved the few feet of watery punishment and hopped into the familiar sanctuary of Clay’s old car.

  “Glad I didn’t run back to Portland now, aren’t you?” He said with a grin.

  The car smelled like stinky man. At least he hadn’t tried to cover it with body spray. Taylor glanced in the backseat, being a curious person generally, and noted a pillow, blanket, and duffel bag. She didn’t say anything about it. There was no way she was letting him guilt her into a spot in her bed. “I’m due back at the shop.”

  He started the car. “This vacation isn’t exactly my best ever. Remember the Thanksgiving we spent in Cabo?”

  “Yeah…” It had only been a year ago. Instead of coming home and spending the last Thanksgiving ever with her mom, she had angered her coworkers by taking vacation during the busiest shopping holiday of the year and gone to Mexico with this guy. Taylor had, as usual, suspected he was going to propose.

  He hadn’t.

  “We were warm and dry and happy.”

  “And fielding calls all week from family who were very disappointed in us for not being with them.”

  “But it was magical because despite your job as a retail manager you had Thanksgiving off!”

  “I believe Grandma Quinny called that insult to injury.”

  “Awe, don’t blacken a great memory like that. We had a blast.”

  He was right. It had been a blast. She’d begged, bartered, and bribed her boss and all her assistant managers to get Black Friday off, but she hadn’t gotten it. Clay didn’t seem to remember that they had flown down on a Sunday, enjoyed three days of sunshine and then flown back on Thanksgiving Day so she could be at work again bright and early that Friday.

  Technically, yes, she had been on vacation on Thanksgiving. But she hadn’t magically managed to miss the most important retail shopping day of the year. And to get that much off she’d had to work boxing day. She had been too tired to drive down to Comfort and back on Christmas, so she’d also missed the last Christmas her mom would ever have.

  Her hand was on the car door handle. “I’ve got to get to work. It’s okay if you don’t drive me.”

  He pulled out of the diner parking lot. “I’ve got you, Tay. That’s the whole reason I’m here, after all. You can count on me.” It took less than three minutes to get them to the little parking area behind her own shop. He followed her in, which wasn’t welcome, but didn’t seem to be something she could escape.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rueben’s Diner had been a bust, but the Tillamook Cheese factory outlet that was next door to her shop generously donated several cheese and cracker trays, and Berry Noir, the fancy restaurant at the vineyard just down the road from town had come through with several bottles of wine and a couple of trays of amuse bouche.

  Shara had managed to get a couple of trays of finger sandwiches from the deli at the grocery store as well as a large selection of soft drinks. All in all, for one day’s notice they had done well on the food.

  Art hadn’t responded to her request to auction the quilts and quilt tops she’d found at his house, but she’d still display them. He couldn’t possibly object to that.

  Roxy had helped her pull down two display quilts from Flour Sax, one she had made a few years back and one that she had led a class in making just that summer. Taylor also donated her Lancaster Linen’s nine patch window display in a guilt-driven moment.

  The other shops came through as well. All together quilt shop row had gathered ten quilts to auction off for the food bank, and actually, that felt rather good. Taylor hadn’t done anything truly sacrificial in ages. Sure, this little murder investigation didn’t really serve her in any way, but it also wasn’t real. She was doing it, but what was she doing exactly? Nothing tangible, that was for sure.

  At the moment, Taylor was standing with Sissy next to the quilts from her shop, sipping a smooth house red.

  Carly from Bible Creek Quilt and Gift had given her memorial message and invited the surprisingly large crowd to mingle, eat, and take part in the silent auction. They met in the chapel at the college.

  The college of Art and Craft wasn’t a religious institution by any means, but this building had been the pioneer church for their little town. A beautiful old building built with bricks from Willamina Clay Products at Willamina Oregon. It was a drafty, vaulty, spooky, and beautiful space. Though it was called the chapel, the only religious events it ever held were the rare memorial or wedding. Instead, its long walls and open spaces were the favorite gallery on campus.

  The whole student body had turned out for the event, a given considering there was free food involved. The faculty and staff all seemed to be present as well. But the crowd had to have at least forty fans—quilters from out of town who knew Reynette for her art and had come to pay tribute.

  That was Hannah’s doing. She had sent out an invite to Reynette’s email list. The list, Hannah said, was over 20,000 emails strong so maybe forty people wasn’t that impressive, but still, they’d only had a day’s notice to make their plans. Taylor was impressed.

  “That one looks shifty.” Sissy’s whisper was a classic example of how whispers can be a lot easier to hear than just a low, quiet voice.

  Taylor turned the direction Sissy was looking, as did several of the ladies standing nearby.

  The “shifty” looking woman was a tall, slender, serious-faced instructor from the college. Taylor had met her in the shop before, though she didn’t seem impressed with Flour Sax’s reprint fabric, or light, colorful atmosphere. Taylor wouldn’t have called the woman shifty, rather morose, and maybe a little snobbish. Fiber Arts, which was Taylor’s degree focus, was just one of the art forms at Comfort College. This lady taught part-time in the small but growing glass department. Taylor watched her carefully fold a napkin around a stack of cheese and slip it into her pocket. Apparently, the students weren’t the only folks starving at the school. “I’ll go chat with her.”

  Taylor escaped the shadow of Sissy, who had stuck by her like glue for the whole memorial. She meandered over to where the snobby instructor was standing and sipped her wine. She admired the quilt hanging behind the instructor. “Wish we had been able to display more of Reynette’s work.”

  “Indeed.” The tall lady frowned. “I hadn’t seen any of it in person myself.”

  “I find it’s a real convers
ation starter.” Taylor’s comment was purposefully open ended. She’d agree with whatever the instructor had to say so she could build a connection with her.

  The instructor shook her head. “It’s not my place to say.”

  “Nor mine. I’m just a friend of the family.”

  “Are you not the owner of Flour Sax now that your mother has died?” The instructor turned a piercing look her direction. “I was under the impression you were one of the hosts of the event.”

  “Well, yes. There is that. But I didn’t know Reynette. And I am a friend of the family.”

  “I see.”

  “And you are?” Taylor gave her a mild, friendly smile, though it irked her that the instructor had seen through her ruse.

  “Gilly. From the glass department. I’m here to support my coworkers.”

  “Glass department….” Taylor murmured. “Like glass pipes and what have you?” She needled the instructor out of frustration.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When I was getting my degree here, before I went to grad school, the college didn’t have a glass department.”

  Gilly seemed unmoved by the news Taylor was an alumna. “We have one now.”

  The conversation stalled out. Before Taylor could drum up more chit chat Betty Harris, one of her favorite fibers instructors, joined them. She was dressed in a caftan she had woven herself, muted earth tones in a soft, loose, tactile weave.

  “Oh Taylor, it’s been too long.” Betty came straight in for a welcome hug.

  Gilly from the glass department stepped away.

  Betty reached a long arm to Gilly and gave her elbow a squeeze. “It’s always hard when school is disrupted like this, isn’t it?” She addressed her colleague.

  “You don’t have classes on Sundays, do you?” Taylor asked.

  “No, but the students were given the week off after the death.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Gilly said. “Not to be cruel, but Reynette hadn’t even started yet. She hadn’t even been on campus, had she?”

  “She’d come in to set up her office, yes, but she wasn’t going to begin teaching till winter quarter began.”

  “Such a waste. I had students with projects in progress. I’ve allowed them to continue to work but of course it causes trouble with the grading. Those who didn’t choose to come in can’t be marked accordingly even though the projects will suffer from the delay.”

  “It’s the same for all of us. I suppose not my class. I still teach spinning and weaving, and of course, there’s nothing time sensitive about that. But many of the classes were hindered as yours was.”

  “And with the holiday next week,” Gilly shook her head, “a whole week off was excessive.”

  “Can you think of any reason why they did that?” Taylor asked.

  “The administration said it was for the mental health of the students and so they could go home if they were afraid. The woman died of a drug overdose, what was there to be afraid of? It’s not like there’s a killer on the loose or anything so gothic as that.”

  Taylor appreciated Gilly’s use of the word gothic in their surroundings. Surrounded by quilts that were at least American Gothic. “More of that young millennial, old generation z snowflake-ishness?” Taylor asked. Gilly was clearly older than Taylor, but Taylor didn’t dare guess how much so. If she was faithful in her skin care, she could be in her mid forties, if not…. no. Taylor didn’t dare guess.

  “I suspect so. You’d know more than I do, Betty.” Gilly shrugged and maneuvered away to greet someone dressed in a sleek wool pants suit.

  “Were you excited about Reynette joining the school?” Taylor asked. Betty was a far better resource for this conversation than Gilly had been. If anyone would have known about professional rivalry amongst the quilters, it was the head of the fibers department.

  “Oh!” Betty’s face lit up as a tall, somewhat familiar looking man approached. “Let me introduce you to Jason—Jason, a moment?”

  The man stopped and smiled sadly at Betty. He walked much more slowly than his unlined face suggested he should walk. He stood with a slight stoop and wore a pair of wire-rim glasses on his narrow nose. Taylor would have guessed him to be about forty-five, but it was hard to say with the very skinny. Low body fat could be terribly aging.

  “Taylor, this is Jason Woods, Art’s son. I’m so glad you could join us.”

  He nodded at her, so serious and studious.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Taylor offered.

  He sighed. “Yes. This is quite a blow to my father.”

  “He was very much in love, I assume.” Taylor tilted her head and frowned sadly. Jason looked just like his father.

  “I assume as well. Otherwise how do you explain the speed of their romance?”

  “I’ve heard it was a whirlwind.”

  “Indeed. They seemed to have just met, to me, and suddenly they were married. They announced their engagement just two weeks ago, and the next thing we knew, they were married and had moved to town.”

  “How long have you been in Comfort?”

  “Just over six years.”

  It was almost exactly the length of time Taylor had been away, which explained why she didn’t know him.

  “What brought you here?”

  “Me?” He seemed surprised to be asked about himself. “I like the atmosphere. Small college towns make nice homes. I commute to McMinnville to teach at the community college.”

  “That’s a bit of a drive every day, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t need to go in every day. Just three times a week and rarely in the summers.”

  “Nice work if you can get it.” The platitude fell from Taylor’s mouth with sincerity.

  “Yes. It is.”

  “What field are you in?”

  “History, like my father.” His eyes were fixed on a spot on the ground, near Taylor’s feet for the whole conversation.

  She couldn’t help but look. She saw nothing but the well cared for oak floors. “It must be wonderful to have him in town.”

  He furrowed his brow. “He seems to like his house.”

  “He seems young to retire…”

  “Retire? No. Sabbatical.”

  “I see. He seems to have fully supported his new wife’s new job.”

  “Yes. He is a firm believer in education. This would have been good for them.”

  “The job?” Taylor asked.

  “They had little else in common.”

  “I hadn’t realized. Gracie seemed to think they were a perfect match.”

  “Did she? Interesting.”

  “I’m sorry he wasn’t able to make it to the memorial. He must be enjoying time with his daughter.”

  Jason still stared at the ground.

  “Is your father close with Una?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Is your father close with your sister?”

  “Oh. Yes. I suppose. Avuncular really, but that’s to be expected with a late in life child, isn’t it?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Jason was a cold fish. He seemed bothered to be here, and bothered that his father had moved to town, and completely unbothered that he had a half-sister less than an hour away.

  “It was nice of you to come on behalf of your father.”

  “I came for Gilly.” He looked around the room. His eye stopped on the tall snobbish woman, and his whole person seemed to relax. “I try to support her in her workplace as much as possible.”

  “I didn’t realize. Have you been together long?”

  “Yes.”

  Taylor glanced at Betty who had engaged another instructor in conversation. Taylor knew the woman from the language arts department. In fact, she was the entire language arts department. As an unaccredited school, the college of arts and crafts could skimp on some of the more traditional classes.

  As Taylor watched the language arts instructor and Betty, a blur of deep red wool and silver hair swooped in—Grandma Quinny. “Oh Betty, Betty. Can
you imagine? Married for only two weeks I hear?” Her warm, rich voice rose over the quiet murmuring of the crowd.

  Jason seemed to shrink at the presence of Taylor’s overwhelming grandmother.

  Taylor opened her mouth to ask him how he and Gilly from the glass program had met, but he managed to escape before she could.

  “Taylor, this was very good of you.” Grandma Quinny leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I hadn’t yet met Reynette but was so looking forward to it. I enjoy anyone who is doing something new in a traditional field.”

  Grandma Quinny had taught business classes on and off at the college for years. Taylor fully supported that branch and had hoped they’d make Grandma Quinny’s courses required for graduation. Of her graduating class of fifty-seven only four were working artists these six years later. They could make beautiful things, but most of them didn’t have a sweet clue about how to turn their passion into an income.

  Betty and Grandma Quinny began a fast-paced talk about the tragedy of widowhood, though neither of them was a widow. They were intense and loud and didn’t notice Taylor walk away. Taylor wanted another moment with Jason and Gilly, if possible, but they were gone.

  Sissy was engaged with Shara in a heated argument. Taylor didn’t want to know, so she left as well. Roxy wouldn’t mind a hand at the shop, and Taylor had a big favor to ask her.

  * * *

  Roxy agreed to cover for her all day on Monday. The weather report was no good and running out to the coast to talk to Art sounded useful.

  Grandpa Ernie was not convinced. “Why would I want to go to the coast? It’s cold.”

  “We wouldn’t be going to the beach itself. We’d just go to Neskowin for the day. Have a change of scenery. Eat at a different restaurant.”

  “Why would I want to go to Neskowin? It’s not oyster season.”

  “Don’t you get tired of staying around here all day?” Taylor made a face at their cozy living room. Taylor loved it, of course, but she pretended she didn’t.

  “No, I don’t. It’s much better than sitting around that old quilt shop all day. I told your mother I was sick and tired of it.”